


the revelation

by bluebeholder



Series: the accidental epic [42]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Double Cross, F/M, Ominous Coffee, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Queenie goes to get coffee with Grindelwald.It's far more upsetting than such a summary suggests.





	the revelation

**Author's Note:**

> News: I broke the Hypothetical Sequel. Posting is delayed until I can fix the damages. >.<
> 
> On the plus side, STORYTIME! 
> 
> :D

A box is delivered to the bakery on Diagon Alley.

It’s not postmarked, and left on the back doorstep. A stamp on the lid, though, says it all. A line, a circle, a triangle—

“It’s from Grindelwald,” Jacob says, staring at it like it might explode. _It’s a long day in a pretty box._

“Then I’d better open it,” Queenie says.

_Damn Dark wizards._ Jacob glares at the box. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Queenie doesn’t answer, just opens the lid. Inside is a teacup, just a teacup. Ordinary porcelain, clearly completely new. She doesn’t touch it. The teacup is obviously a Portkey.

_Nope._ “I don’t want you to go,” Jacob says.

Queenie sighs. “Neither do I,” she says, “but I ain’t got much of a choice. Not unless we want to give the game away.”

Jacob sighs and kisses her cheek. “You’ll knock him dead, kitten.” _Brave girl._

“Thanks, honey,” Queenie says. She steels her nerves and, cautiously, picks up the teacup.

There’s an almighty yank, a twist in space, and then—

—she’s standing on a sidewalk in a city she doesn’t recognize, right outside a café. There are people everywhere, but their thoughts are Muggle thoughts, and not in English. Are they in…Sweden? Or maybe it’s Iceland, Queenie wouldn’t know. But it sure doesn’t sound French, at least.

No one seems to have noticed her sudden appearance, but Queenie supposes Grindelwald wouldn’t care if they did. She turns about and sees, through the window, an unfortunately familiar face watching her. Grindelwald inclines his head a bit, and gestures at the empty seat at the table.

Queenie goes into the café with her head held high. There are people inside, and it has a pleasant atmosphere. “Not the kinda place I’d think you’d go,” Queenie says, sliding into the seat and tossing her hair. “A few too many Muggles.”

“The coffee is good, and even Muggles have their place,” Grindelwald says. “I ordered for you. It will be here in a moment, presuming that my Imperius holds.”

The Imperius Curse, used to bring her a cup of coffee.

Queenie’s skin crawls.

She doesn’t let on, though. “Thanks,” she says. “It was a pretty Portkey.”

“I found it appropriate to send you a cup to bring you to a coffeeshop,” Grindelwald says, flashing a charming smile.

Queenie giggles. “Aw, honey…I like it!” She’s already chipping away at his defenses. This is the fourth time they’ve met in person. With every meeting, she’s learning more about his mind, getting in around the sides, hearing more and more. Far as she can tell, he doesn’t know. He’s not bothering to learn new tricks, to improve his Occlumency.

Overconfident bastard, underestimating her.

The last two meetings were in remote locations, once in a city somewhere in some African country and once somewhere that the people spoke Spanish. His questions for her were always very mundane. Were there many Aurors in Diagon Alley? Were people tense? Did many read the papers? What was the rumor, the buzz on the street? When she saw known Pure-Blood families out and about, what were their attitudes?

Queenie’s always careful to mix truth and lies, to be useful but not too useful. Grindelwald is usually casual about it, gentlemanly and even charming. That hasn’t changed. But there’s an edge about him today, something that tells Queenie this meeting is different.

The coffee arrives, brought by a glassy-eyed Muggle boy. Queenie shudders a little, and can’t hide her distaste, but Grindelwald just smiles. She takes a sip, trying to steady herself: it is good coffee.

“How is Jacob these days?” Grindelwald asks. “Business going well?”

“The bakery’s doing beautifully,” Queenie says with a smile. That’s the truth and, honestly, even though it’s Grindelwald she doesn’t mind sharing. It’s the fruit of good honest Muggle labor and he can just let that rankle. “Just so popular! Ain’t a wizard who comes to Diagon Alley that doesn’t come by.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Grindelwald says. He leans forward a bit. “And do you get many visitors, you and Jacob? Personal friends…?”

Queenie’s neck tingles. She can’t catch fragments of thought but the tenor of his thoughts is a dangerous one. If he’s about to do violence, he won’t care that there are Muggles, and he certainly won’t be alone. Queenie’s mind races along three tracks at once: listening to him, speaking, and planning just what she’ll do if wands come out.

“Newt and Tina came a while back,” Queenie says breezily.

“Ah, yes,” Grindelwald says. His strange gaze fixes on her, and she _feels_ the assault on her mind as his thoughts barrel into hers. “And did they come alone?”

In the split second of the attack, Queenie sees past his defenses. She doesn’t catch a name or a face, only—

“You already know they didn’t,” she says, drawing back.

Grindelwald’s entire expression changes, going completely cold. Angry. “Yes,” he says. “I have other informants, Miss Goldstein. I know that Credence Barebone was in Diagon Alley and you chose not to tell me of something so pertinent.”

“He’s my friend,” Queenie snaps. “Why would I betray him?”

“You’ve already betrayed him,” Grindelwald says. No: _sneers._ “You’re here with me. Imagine his expression if he found out!”

Queenie leans forward. She’s savaging his mind, now, uncaring of whether or not he notices. It’s an all-out war inside his mind, and at the moment, angry as she is, she’s winning. All the cards are on the table. “I told him,” she says. “I told him exactly what was happening. And he told me to keep going and to be brave, because someone had to watch you!”

Grindelwald looks mildly astonished. “Watch me?”

“Who’s your spy?” Queenie demands. She strikes over and over at the mask of indifference, a mask that’s slipping further and further as Grindelwald is angrier. “Someone close to us, someone in Diagon Alley?”

“I wouldn’t stoop to telling you that,” Grindelwald says. Still cool, but she can feel his rage. “Do you think me a fool?”

Queenie smiles and spits words out like they’re acid. “Yes, I do. You’ve been so stupid, employing a Legilimens who hates you and never bothering to improve your Occlumency.”

And with one precision strike, at the weakest point where his anger is greatest, Queenie smashes through Grindelwald’s defenses.

It’s not enough, not to get all the way down deep, but she’s _in_. He cries out and falls back in his chair, almost toppling to the floor at her assault. Queenie stands up fast, her chair going over, planting her hands on the table for balance. It’s a wave of violence, pouring out, thoughts nearly overwhelming her with their _hate_.

Muggles all around are shouting, but Queenie ignores them in favor of tearing through his thoughts, looking for anything, anything at all. They’re fragments. But none of them are useless, not one, and she seizes them all haphazardly to sort out later.

Grindelwald recovers fast as thought and suddenly Queenie is slammed out of his mind. It’s her turn to stagger as he rises, menace and white-hot rage pouring off even his guarded mind. “You’re brave, Miss Goldstein,” he says. “But bravery can be very, very stupid.”

“We’ve both made bad choices today,” Queenie says, breathing hard. People are staring, and she doesn’t care. “So maybe you make a good one and send me home.”

“Why should I?” Grindelwald asks, drawing his wand.

Queenie musters everything she has and looks him dead in the eye. He’s swinging back to attack her, but he’s still off-guard enough that he won’t be able to get in. She can lie better than anyone she knows, and right now, Grindelwald will believe her. “Because the Ministry of Magic knows where I am,” she says, a bald-faced lie. “They tracked me. Aurors are already on their way.”

He hesitates for a split second. She sees the moment that he decides. “Very well,” he says, and throws a silver spoon down on the table. “There is your Portkey home, Miss Goldstein.”

“Thanks,” Queenie says. She maintains eye contact as she reaches for the spoon.

“You know, of course,” Grindelwald says, never once looking away, “that you are no longer under my protection.”

Queenie smiles. “I don’t think I ever was to begin with, sugar,” she says.

Her hand closes around the spoon, and she’s yanked away before Grindelwald can reply.

“Jacob!” she shouts as soon as she lands in the kitchen again.

He drops a pan of sheet cake. It hits the ground with a clang, sending cake flying all over the floor. _WHAT—_ “Queenie! What happened!?”

Queenie catches herself on the counter, throwing down the spoon. “He knows Credence was here,” she says, “and he’s fired me.”

“Fired you?” Jacob takes her by the elbows and eases her onto a counter stool. _Sit down before she faints._ “Aw, hell, Queenie…we should go to the Ministry.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “we’d just get arrested. But he knew, Jacob, he knew that Credence was here, and I don’t know how.”

_Bastard sees too much, doesn’t he?_ Jacob makes a face. “There was a public announcement, after Dumbledore tested him.”

“He was angry I didn’t tell him right away,” Queenie says. “He knew that I had more than I told him. I was lying.”

“Well, yeah,” Jacob says. _Can’t be one of us._ “So who talked?”

“There were only six people who knew he was here.” Queenie ticks them off on her fingers. “Me, you, Tina, Newt, Graves, and…”

There’s a long, long, _long_ pause.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Queenie says. Her laugh sounds nervous, tinkling like broken glass. “I mean—he did make it so Credence was safe, announced it and all. Why would Dumbledore be talking to Grindelwald? They hate each other!”

Jacob’s eyes are distant. _The kids…Credence…attacks on the Ministry…_ “He works at Hogwarts, yeah?” he asks, and Queenie sees the track of his thoughts.

“He wouldn’t convince kids to go to war!” she cries, clapping her hands to her mouth.

“Who else was close enough to those boys?” Jacob asks. _It can’t be a coincidence._

Queenie shakes her head frantically. “There was someone outside, remember? It just can’t be Dumbledore. He hates Grindelwald and he loves those children at Hogwarts. You know what Newt thinks of him, don’t you?”

_Hero-worship._ “Yeah,” Jacob says. He leans his elbows on the counter, heedless of the flour scattered there like snow. “I know.”

“Newt doesn’t trust easy,” Queenie says. She knows that this is just desperation, that she doesn’t want their most powerful ally to betray them, but she can’t make herself let it go. “If he says Dumbledore is good, then I trust Newt.”

“Yeah,” Jacob says again. “I know.” _Got to trust our friends…._

There’s silence in the kitchen. Out front the bell rings and they hear Millie greeting a customer cheerfully. Queenie shivers a little.

_Nothing for it._ “We’ve got to tell the rest anyway,” Jacob says. “Someone knew Credence was here and brought it back to Grindelwald. Ain’t a one of us free of suspicion, I guess. Even you and me.”

“Even you and me,” Queenie whispers. She swallows hard. “You’re right. Well…I guess we’d better send letters. But…not one to Dumbledore.”

“We don’t know he did anything,” Jacob says. _Innocent until proven guilty, right?_ “Fact is, he probably didn’t. But I don’t think we can trust him. I’m not sure we can trust anybody at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Nope” dates from at least 1888. Just thought that was amusing: more slang that sounds “modern” but definitely, definitely isn’t.


End file.
